(Love) Or Something Like That.

When she came into the store it was all Dane noticed; her silver gloves gleamed in the fluorescent glow. His father, whom stared at him disapprovingly from the oil and acrylic tomb hanging on the wall, resisted updating anything in the store for the longest time. Dane would rant about diversification, Father would counter with claims of quality over quantity.
        Or something like that.
"Prestige and passion is what they want when they come here."
He'd always tell him that. He wondered if the image of a young angel, with her hair dyed silver reflecting a petite halo, ever crossed Father's mind.
    If it had, he would have been right in the probable assumption that Dane would be unable to focus, unable to uphold the sterling name of their establishment. Dane felt no guilt in her light. She shook tiny snowflakes out of tufts of chaotically perfect hair. The Angel spoke.
    Something about coats. She didn't have one. He would have asked, but nothing of him felt worthy to do so. Why question perfection? He brought a few out. She liked one, black waist length, wool. It wasn't good for the snow, he told her.
        Or something like that.
    She did not care. She fumbled with her purse, her delicate fingers obstructed in their grace by her glove. She pulled it off with her teeth, crooked but just a little. She placed the card in his gloved hand. She giggled, time slowed. The Angel made a joke about how everyone else needed gloves but he was making a fashion statement.
        Or something like that.

(Love) Or Something Like That.

   Dane wanted to ask her what her name was. If she liked coffee. If she wanted to get some. In his head, They were walking down the city streets at twilight. They were in love. Things like this don't just happen. People don't just shop. There is a design, he thought. He parted his lips to speak, but Father's scowl burned into him as deep as it clung to the canvas.
"Professionalism" Echoed somewhere. That word said so many times in all the eulogies, and obituaries.
    He stopped himself and thanked her for her purchase.
        Or something like that.
    She walked out of the store, his life.